


I'll Be There

by sweetie_pie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Hell Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetie_pie/pseuds/sweetie_pie
Summary: A careless statement leaves Dean hurt and angry and Sam in tears. The gap between two motel beds has never felt wider as one is too proud and one is too scared to reach out and bridge it. If they want to close the distance, they need to let go of their baggage first.





	I'll Be There

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> a little, self-indulgent, Season 2/3ish, Hurt/Comfort-y thing for you.  
> Hope you enjoy and I would love to hear from you. :)
> 
> sweetie-pie <3

The room was silent and pitch-black. He heard him crying. It was a silent, painful wailing. He didn’t want to hear it. He actually chose to ignore it. The idea was simple enough, roll over and fall asleep, just let him cry. But it was never that simple. It was never that simple when it came to Sam. He should be mad at him, he should feel betrayed and wronged and hurt, and most of all, he shouldn’t care that Sam was crying. In theory all of this was true, but the theory didn’t take into account that he would have to hear Sam. It wasn’t easy to remember all the reasons why he was hurt and mad when he heard the pitiful, chocked off sobs, the hitched breaths and the tiny, hushed whining sounds coming from the bed across the room.

It was the first time in a long time that they had gotten a room with two, separate beds and it most certainly would have felt weird, if he hadn’t been so angry when he had checked them in. He hadn’t talked to Sam for the rest of the night, just slammed the bathroom door in his face, got ready and climbed into his bed, alone. Sam had tried to talk to him several times: Directly after their fight, again hours later when they were still driving in an uncomfortable silence, and finally later that night in the motel room. At first he had asked, then he had demanded and eventually he was begging and pleading for Dean to talk to him. It had been easy to ignore. Mostly because Dean could not remember another time when he had been so angry at Sam. This had nothing to do with their job or their different way of thinking. It was personal, it was about them, and it had hurt Dean on a level he didn’t fully understand yet. He wasn’t made for these things, he was not the relationship kind of person, but he had thought that this with Sam, this scary, wrong, wonderful thing they shared was different. That he -for once- could share his feelings with someone he trusted. Obviously, he never had been more wrong.

Dean huffed as the anger came back to him full force and he clenched his jaw painfully tight, trying hard not to make a noise. He didn’t want Sam to know he was awake, he didn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction of knowing that he couldn’t sleep either, that this fight had unsettled him into restlessness. Sam sobbed again and it sounded muffled, as if Sam was trying to cover up his sounds by his hands or the pillow. Dean clenched his jaw even tighter as the urge overcame him to instantly soothe Sam. It really wasn’t fair what these noises were doing to him. Every one of them echoed in his ears, bled into his consciousness and cut open his chest with tiny, precise cuts. He was mad, Sam had hurt him, he deserved this. Sam deserved to cry and ache and feel lost. He deserved to be lying alone in his bed, in this god awful looking, purple motel room. Dean had nothing to feel guilty for, he didn’t do anything wrong. But even if his mind totally agreed with him, his heart didn’t. It was torture, plain and simple. Whatever hell would have in store for him would have nothing on this: Lying in his bed, only a few feet away from his brother, and hearing him in so much pain.

The minutes ticked by and Dean tried to clench his eyes tightly shut, so he would eventually fall asleep, he tried to hum Metallica in his head to block out Sam’s crying, he tried cleaning his guns in his mind as an equivalent to counting sheep, he tried everything he could think of and grew more desperate every minute. Sam’s crying didn’t falter, it didn’t lessen. It only got worse. The sobs came from deep within his chest and sounded like they shook Sam’s entire body with their force, the sniffles were wet and frequent and the high pitched, silent whining sounded like loneliness and heartbreak and longing all wrapped into one. Dean bit down hard on his own tongue, trying intently to resist every one of his instincts telling him to get up and comfort Sam as he always did, because he wanted to make Sam understand that he couldn’t just forgive what happened and move on. He was trying to make a point, trying to stand up for himself, and for once put himself before his little brother. Up until now, he was doing a good job, not taking into account how unbearable the whole situation really was for him.

This was so not okay. His body felt like it needed to split in half, one half going over to comfort Sam and the other one stubbornly refusing to do so for some reason he didn’t really recall anymore. Dean got frustrated, mad at himself, mad at Sam, mad at the situation and just wanted it all to stop. He wanted to go back to normal, to him and Sam sharing a bed after a terrible, long day, just feeling his brother’s warmth, breathing him in and feeling as close to comfortable as he ever got. He was exhausted, the day had drained him, and he just wanted to sleep, but like this, with these heart-wrenching noises in the background, that was never going to happen. An extra painful, hitching sob escaped Sam’s throat and Dean just snapped. “Would you quit that already!”, he snarled in Sam’s direction, quietly but with an angry undertone. The sobbing and whining and sniffling stopped all together in a surprised intake of breath and for a second the dark room was completely still. So Sam hadn’t known that Dean was still awake. Dean had figured as much, because even if Sam was more emotionally accessible than he was, openly crying in front of him was not something Sam did on a regular basis.

Then the silence got broken by a pathetically loud sob and the crying grew even more in intensity. If Dean had thought the situation was unbearable earlier, he was in a new kind of hell now. His fists clenched the sheets real tight and he tried to repeat in his head all the reasons why he was angry at Sam. It worked, at least for a few seconds, until he heard a sobbed “Dean” coming from his little brother’s mouth. Dean’s heart stung painfully at the open vulnerability in Sam’s broken voice and all the reasons why he was punishing Sam fell silent. And right then and there he had a moment of utter clarity. It didn’t matter. All this didn’t matter. He was mad at Sam, so what? Sam had hurt him, so what? Sam deserved to suffer a little, so fricken what?! The only thing that mattered was that Sam was crying, making noises that hurt Dean deeply and that he wanted to erase from his memory more than anything. The only thing that mattered was that he was Sam’s big brother and he was ordered, no -privileged-, to protect him and keep him safe in any given situation. The only thing that mattered was that he loved him with a fierce, heavy intensity and a gentle, quiet fondness, loved him through everything that they had experienced together, loved him in spite of all their differences and past and present mistakes, loved him with everything he had and everything that he was. All consuming, undying, all forgiving.

He was out of bed in the blink of an eye, making no sound as he was padding across the filthy carpet floor to Sam’s bed. His brother was lying on his side, facing away from Dean, obviously trying his hardest to keep Dean from noticing his crying and was shaking from head to toe. Dean sighed deeply, lifted the blanket, and got into bed behind his little brother. That got Sam’s attention. If he hadn’t noticed Dean coming over before, he definitively did now. His body went stock still, as far as possible with the shaking sobs still cursing through him, but the crying didn’t quiet down. The bed was a tight fit, but Dean tried to stay so far on the edge of the bed that Sam’s and his body weren’t touching. He could feel Sam’s body heat reaching out for him, but he refused to welcome the feeling. Not yet. Tentatively he reached out with his hand until his fingers were finding the soft strands of the hair in Sam’s neck. At first he let his fingers just glide through it, making slow, even movements. This got a few extra pathetic whines out of Sam. Then he began to lightly stroke and pet Sam’s neck and hair. It was still only his hand touching Sam, the rest of his body remained in his distant position at the edge of the bed. Sam cried even harder for a couple of minutes. Eventually, though, he quieted down a little bit. The sobs didn’t wreck his body that much anymore, the sniffles were coming in bigger intervals and his breathing pattern evened out.

As Sam seemed to relax a little, Dean was right behind him. Feeling how responsive Sam was to his comforting touch was making all of this a little better. It was familiar, just as it was intended to be. They were slipping into their roles without any effort and everything clicked back into place. Dean sighed deeply, all of the anger had drained out of him and he was left only with the intense urge to scoot closer and wrap Sam into his arms. It wasn’t fair that he was the one comforting and reassuring Sam now, it wasn’t logical that the white, hot rage that he had been feeling just minutes earlier had simply seeped out of his body without leaving any traces of its prior existence behind, but explanations, reason and logic were completely obsolete now. Sam needed him so he was there for him. For Dean, it was just as simple as that. He left all his pride behind and scooted closer to the warm, huddled form of his brother. His chest made contact with Sam’s back and he could feel the shudder running through his brother’s body in response. Dean waited. He had done his part. Now it was Sam’s turn to close the final gap between them.

He didn’t have to wait for long, as curious fingers tentatively reached for his arm and draped it over Sam’s chest. It was a familiar position, one that they had been finding themselves in frequently, right before they fell asleep, but now it was different. Sam felt tense and unsure in his arms and his fingers were clutching Dean’s hand with a desperate intensity that was new and unsettling. Dean recognized the feeling of this grip, had been on the receiving end of it a couple of times before, but never like this, never when they were simply lying in bed together. Sam had clutched him like this before, but only when there was a close call on a particularly dangerous hunt. Even the first time it happened, Dean had instantly known why Sam did it: Sam didn’t want to let him go, because he was afraid he wouldn’t come back. This grip didn’t have any business being in this situation and it unsettled Dean gravely.

Since Sam and he had been an item, he had often realized how poorly Sam thought of himself. Granted, he wasn’t one to talk in this department, but with Sam it had surprised him. It wasn’t that Sam didn’t know when he was good at something, but ever since he was carrying the knowledge of having demon blood inside of him, he was insecure on a level Dean had never seen before. Whenever he would do something wrong and someone would get harmed in the process, Sam got this look on his face, as if he was condemning himself to hell, as if he believed it would be better if Dean just abandoned him. Dean hadn’t called him on it, in this case not because he got uncomfortable talking about this kind of stuff, but because he had naively thought it would pass, that Sam could work through it. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.

Whatever traces of anger were still in him left, as waves of concern crushed him. It was time he did something about Sam’s habit of putting himself down. Dean left his hand in Sam’s death grip, got up on one elbow and leaned over Sam so he could see the outlines of his profile. “Sam?”, he whispered, realizing that his brother was still very much awake and still crying, even if the tears fell silently now. “Sam?”, he tried again and this time his brother reacted. “I’m sorry I woke you, you can go back to sleep”, Sam said quietly in a painfully clenched voice. It was breaking Dean’s heart how small and miserable Sam sounded, as if he honestly believed Dean would be mad at him for crying. “Don’t have to be sorry”, Dean said warmly and shifted even closer to Sam. Sam didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up. I always do everything wrong, I hurt people, especially you. I’m cursed, Dean… You shouldn’t be with me; you should stay as far away from me as possible. I don’t want to hurt you, never again… Don’t want to taint you…”, Sam rambled, sobbed a few times and clutched Dean’s hand even tighter.

For a few moments Dean was simply speechless and he had to take a few deep breaths to pull himself together. ‘Taint him’, that was what all of this came down to. Sam thought that whatever he was carrying inside of him was tainting him and therefore everyone in his presence, including Dean. Dean pressed himself as tightly as possible to Sam’s back and laid his head right next to Sam’s on the pillow, so that he could speak directly into Sam’s ear. “Sammy, listen to me now and listen good”, he started in a deep, rough mumble. “You are not a fuck-up. Period. You are my brother and there is nothing in this world that you could do, or say or fuck-up that I wouldn’t forgive, you hear me? You are not cursed. What this demon bastard did to you is not your fault, not even a little bit, trust me! Don’t let him mess with your head like this. That is exactly what he wants. I swear, he is going to pay for what he did, but until then you have to trust me that there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Nothing. That he chose you to give his blood to has nothing to do with you being evil inside and everything to do with him being a sick bastard. I’m not going anywhere, Sammy. If your bad influence on me, then I am an even worse influence on you. -I- brought you back into this life, even if you didn’t want it, so don’t tell me about bad influence. And here comes the most important part…”, Dean paused to underline the importance of his statement. “There is no way in hell you could taint me. You are not unclean, wrong or evil inside and whatever you got in you doesn’t change anything, because here comes some news for you, baby brother: When I said that I love you, I meant each and every part of you, dumbass, and if that includes the nasty blood of some demon asshole then so be it.”

Sam had been listening intently, that he could see from the way Sam’s breathing was flat and his fingers were clutching Dean’s hand even tighter to a point of pain. Sam didn’t answer, so Dean felt obligated to bring his point across with more intent. “Sammy, you and me have seen evil, have fought and killed it. We know what evil looks like, what it does, and you do not belong anywhere near that category, you got me?! You are a good person. Whatever mistakes you made are nothing, -nothing-, compared to the good you’ve done and if you can’t see that then you just have to trust me when I tell you it’s the truth.” Silence settled heavily in the room and Dean breathed laboredly. It wasn’t easy for him to talk like this and it always left him feeling too vulnerable and raw. As Dean was almost sure that Sam wouldn’t respond in any way, his hand was suddenly released from the death grip and lifted to Sam’s face, where warm, soft lips pressed the faintest of kisses to his sensitive finger tips. The contact let warmth spread through him and the uneasiness of the past moment was lifted.

“I’m so sorry”, Sam said finally, quietly but strongly, nothing left of the broken quality of his earlier voice. “What for?”, Dean asked, still close to Sam’s ear. “What I said earlier today, I’m…” Ah, so they reached that part of their conversation: Apologies. “I know”, Dean interrupted, kind of not willing to go back to that. “No, please, I have to get this out”, Sam pleaded and with one quick motion, he was facing Dean. Dean couldn’t make out Sam’s features in the dark, but he could imagine what his brother must look like: Red-rimmed, wet eyes, flushed cheeks, and tussled hair. Most likely he was the living representation of miserable. Dean sighed and got his tortured hand back from Sam. “You have to understand why I said what I said”, Sam began cryptically. “Okay”, he said, not exactly thrilled to bring the argument back up that had gotten him mad at Sam in the first place. “First of all, you have to understand that what I said came out completely wrong.” Dean frowned. “You said that you don’t believe me when I say that I love you, you basically called me a liar, I’m not sure how this should have come out differently”, he argued, suddenly very tired.

Sam took a deep breath and took Dean’s hand in his once more. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Listen… I love you, Dean. I truly do. But sometimes I just don’t understand why you would love me back. Why you would love someone, who might turn into something truly evil.” “Sam”, Dean said agitatedly. “No! I… Don’t give me the I’m a good person crap, okay?! We both know what dad said to you, we both know that there is a chance that you might have to…” “What? Kill you?! Is that what you were going to say?!”, Dean interrupted forcefully. “Well, then I got news for you in this department too: I won’t do it! There is absolutely no way! The demon blood inside your body doesn’t make you a demon, Sam, not by a long shot, and there is no one, who could convince me that you will someday turn into something evil. Evil needs ground to build on and it doesn’t have that with you, not now and not as long as I am around! Did I wish you didn’t have demon blood in you? Of course! But not because it changes the kind of person you are. Only because it makes you doubt yourself so much that you can’t believe that I would actually love you!” Fresh tears came to Sam’s eyes. Dean couldn’t see them, but he felt them dripping on his hand. “Sammy, you have to believe me”, Dean urged softly. Sam didn’t answer and just kept on crying. “You -have- to  -believe- me”, Dean urged again and took Sam’s face between his hands. “Believe me, Sammy”, he whispered and pressed a light kiss on Sam’s tear-salty lips.

Sam sobbed quietly against Dean’s lips and suddenly lunched himself at his brother. He brought his hands up, fisted them in Dean’s hair, pulled his head down to his own and pressed his lips forcefully against Dean’s. Dean reacted instantaneously. He wrapped his arms around Sam as tightly as possible and kissed him back. It wasn’t about power, even if the kiss was forceful and intense. Lips pressed tightly together and tongues found themselves quickly, as they explored each other’s mouth wantonly. It was about understanding and forgiving, about love and the silent promise to always stand by one another, whatever the future may hold for them. It felt like they had waited their whole lives for this kiss, like it was somehow the solution for everything. It did feel like a solution, not for everything, but for everything important. Sam loved Dean and Dean loved Sam. A simple equation for their utterly complicated love story, but one that would never fail. “I believe you… I believe you”, Sam whispered between kisses and a wave of relief washed over Dean.

Dean parted from his brother and tried to connect their eyes, despite of the darkness. “You are not alone in this, Sammy, never. Whatever we will have to face, whatever will get thrown in our way, I’ll always be there with you, okay?” “I love you, Dean”, Sam whispered, obviously deeply moved by Dean’s words. “I love you too”, Dean replied, and for once he had the feeling that Sam actually trusted these words. He pulled his brother close, wrapped him up in his arms and felt how Sam tried to snuggle even closer, as if he was trying to crawl into Dean. And as Sam pressed his face into his skin and took his hand in his own, Dean murmured the only words he would forever stand by: “I’ll be there. Always.”

 

_The End_


End file.
